The Darkest Prince
by ThisCatalyst'sPen
Summary: All great heroes and villains start out with a story. This is the story of how Raphael became the Night Watcher, why, and everything that happened in his time in disguise. The good, the bad, and the ugly...
1. The Beginning

~The Darkest Prince~

* * *

There are always usually two types of people in a story; one who is good, and one who is bad. These tales usually involve a lot of chasing, heroic fighting, epic battles between good and evil, and eventually, the hero flying off into the sunset, victorious once more. It is very unlikely that in a tale such as this, the bad guy would be the one to ride off triumphant into the twilight. But this particular tale is not like either of them. Sure, it has a good guy, and a bad guy, and some other guys who are neither good nor bad thrown in for good measure, and a plot that twists and turns the further the story progresses. And of course, there are a lot of epic fighting scenes where the hero shows off his amazing prowess and skill we all envy. Actually, this story is quite a lot like most stories, the only difference, however, is the small, sort of important fact that there is no hero, or bad guy for that matter. Well, there is a bit of both I guess. Okay there _are _both types of people in here, but what I'm trying to say is, that what makes _this _story different to all the rest is the fact that the hero in this story, the knight in shining armour as people would say, was not always considered the good guy. Actually, for a while he wasn't very good at all. But I'm getting ahead of myself. You'll see for yourself, in time.

And this is where our story begins, in the middle of an ordinary night, in an ordinary city, with a not so ordinary family...

* * *

You can tell a lot about a person by the state of their bedroom, and what they have in their respective places. Michelangelo's room, for lack of a better word, was a pigsty. Empty soda cans and crumpled packets of various chips littered the floor. Old and smelly knee and elbow pads lay in hidden corners underneath piles of junk that would make any garbage tip jealous. Piles of dog-eared comic books depicting superheroes clad in inappropriate, tight fitting clothing were tossed carelessly aside on and under Michelangelo's unmade bed and tangled Spiderman sheets. It is quite easy to gather from this, that Michelangelo is in fact, a pig.

I suppose you could also call him lazy, or a geek, in some respects, to someone who was fun and energetic and loved comic books, but hated cleaning. Though his brothers didn't see him this way, they just thought of him as a pig.

Donatello, on the other hand, had quite a different room. Yes, the second youngest brother's room was strewn with various pieces of metal, half built machines that did God-knows-what, piles of various tools, and the occasional stack of nuts and bolts. There were no posters on the walls, and the bed, unlike Michelangelo's, was always clean and made. Mainly because Donatello did not sleep in his bed, but always fell asleep in his computer chair in front of his several computers. There were no lights in the room, as it was always lit with the glow of several illuminated computer screens with various wallpapers. There was always a faint hum emanating from the computers that would drive a normal person mad. But Donatello found it soothing, most probably because he is genius, and the sound of buzzing computers is as common to him as white bread.

And then there is Raphael's room. Posters of flashy muscle cars, and various rock bands, like Metallica, and Guns N' Roses, covered every inch of the four walls in Raphael's room. There was very little in the way of furniture, and instead of having a proper bed, Raphael had a string hammock, strung up from his ceiling. His hammock however, was never 'made' every morning, as he only had one threadbare blanket, which usually ended up on the floor every morning anyway. Dumbbells and bar weights and various car magazines and spare parts for motorbikes littered the ground, and the only source of light in the room came from a small lava lamp in the corner, illuminating the room a soft red.

It was fair to say from taking a look at this room that Raphael was some kind of rebel, who liked loud music and doing a lot of exercise, and didn't particularly like a lot of company.

The last room belonged to the eldest brother, Leonardo, and was very different to the rest of his brothers. The room wasn't bare, just filled with the essentials. A small bed was placed in the corner, the white sheets always tucked in perfectly each morning. A simple chest of draws was pushed against the furthest corner, and the floor was spotless, leaving plenty of room for meditating and practising katas. Dozens of candles lined the walls, providing a serene and calming light.

I guess you could say, that from looking at his room, Leonardo like to keep things clean and in order, knowing where precisely everything was and why.

But I'm sure every teenager's room looks like any of these rooms at some time or another. I guess you could say the rooms are pretty ordinary. But it's the brothers that _live _in them that are, well, shall we say a little peculiar...

"No, no, no, you need to focus on what you're doing. This kata is a lot harder than the others, you're going to need more than just power Raphael, if you wish to be able to complete is successfully."

Raphael growled, tawny eyes narrowing in anger at his older brother. What the hell did he know anyway?

"Focus Raphael, you're not focusing," Leonardo instructed.

Raphael gnashed his teeth together and bit back a scream of frustration. He hated training sessions, particularly when he was paired with his oldest brother, Leonardo. Leonardo, who was perfect; a perfect son, a perfect brother, and a perfect fighter; everything Raphael was not.

"I am focusing," Raphael shot back, forcing his voice to remain calm.

"No you're not, you're not concentrating," Leo sighed, dropping his fighting stance. "I know you can do this Raphael, you just need to focus."

"I don't need to focus," Raphael growled in irritation. He hated it when Leo did this, always signalling him out in front of his brothers. He was tired of being told to focus, and concentrate, and damn near sick of hearing it.

Before Leo could say anymore, Raphael charged forward, sliding to the ground at the last minute, sweeping his right leg around to knock Leo's legs straight out from under him.

Leo fell with a surprised _uh _to the ground. Rubbing his head, he glared up at his smirking brother. "Raphael, it is unfair to fight when your opponent is not ready."

"Well, maybe ya' should 'ave been concentrating more instead of lecturing me," Raphael smirked, folding his arms across his chest, making no move to help his brother off the ground.

"Well maybe I wouldn't have to lecture you if you just listened to me for once in your life," Leonardo shot back, getting angrily to his feet.

"You know what Leo, forget it," Raphael growled. "I'm sick and tired of you telling me what to do all the time."

"In case you've forgotten Raphael, I am the _leader _of this family!"

"Well excuse me, _Your Royal Highness_," Raphael snorted, hands held up in a mock gesture. "I guess I missed the memo where I have to follow your orders in my own god-damn home."

"Why do you always have to go and do this, Raphael?" Leonardo said, clenching his fists by his side in frustration. "You always turn everything I say into an argument. And guess what, no matter what you think; I'm not the bad guy here!"

"No, of course the mighty Leonardo could never be the bad guy, that spot belongs to the bad Raphael, right?"

"Raphael, get back here!"

"No," Raphael said, pausing in the doorway of the dojo, "I don't have to listen to you anymore. I'm not a child."

"Really? Because the way you're acting, it seems to me like you're no more than five years old," Leo shot back, arms folded across his plastron, and eye-ridge raised in speculation.

Raphael growled and clenched his fists. He couldn't stay here much longer. He knew that if he did, he would only regret it in the morning.

Turning, he stalked quickly out of the dojo, adrenaline and anger pumping through his veins in a dangerous combination. His vision began to blur with the familiar shade of red, as he ran out of his home, through the sewers, and into the night.


	2. More Of The Same

~More Of The Same~

Raphael sighed and leaned heavily against railing, the grandiose view of the New York City skyline a blanket of colour against the horizon.

He had too much energy; he could feel it buzzing inside him. He needed to move, to run, or leap, or fight, anything that would distract him. Raphael knew he couldn't go home, not with this much restless energy pulsing through him, like his veins had turned to tesla coils.

Raphael shook his head and looked around at the rooftop jungle that was starting to feel more like home than his real home down in the sewers. Rooftops sprawled all around him, in every direction, rows upon rows of them, spanning out for miles. Rooftops, Raphael thought idly, were what seemed to _fill _the city. Sprawled out behind him and to his left and right where nothing but rooftops, making Raphael feel like a miniature figurine in a child's play set of Lego.

But the Lego-like towers stopped in front of him. The city started to dwindle, and the buildings became smaller and smaller, and fewer and fewer, until there were none, only the fishing wharfs and docks, and miniature boats bobbing in the sea like small toys in a bathtub. Beyond the dark expanse of the water lay a distant land, nothing but an emerald smudge in the distance. Raphael often wondered about that smudge, curious to what lay within the new world, so different to his homeland. He felt a dull pain in his chest, between his ribcages where his longing heart beat restlessly. How often had he come here to stare out at the distant land, a pang in his heart as he imagined what it would be like to be over there, in another part of the world? He would stand here for hours, simply staring and imagining, before reality wrapped its callous hands around him again and shoved him back into the present of the ever present blaring of New York traffic. He knew he would never get to see anymore of the world. New York was his home, and he couldn't even experience in daylight. He was a prisoner to this land, a solitary slave to the night.

It's not hard to imagine what was running through Raphael's mind that night; alone, angry and frustrated with his life, thoughts that would make anyone restless. So Raphael did the only thing he knew how to; he patrolled the rooftops like a lone wolf, scanning dark alleys and deserted backstreets for any signs of drug dealers, thief's, and general baddies.

It wasn't long before his trained eyes zeroed in on a young girl, no older than eighteen or so, clutching her handbag to her chest, frightened eyes scanning the shadow-clad alley, as her heels echoed on the pavement.

_Why do all these girls walk down deserted alleys at night? _Raphael thought grimly to himself, eyes already locked on the bulky man who waited in the shadows at the end of the alley. _New Yorkers will do anything to save them ten minutes of walking._

And sure enough, the woman walked further and further into the alley, purse clutched tightly to her chest, like it would magically morph into a Transformer and save her if any big bad guys jumped out at her.

And, as Raphael predicted, there was a big bad guy waiting at the end of the alley for her. However, her purse did _not _turn into a transformer, which was a bit of a shame; Raphael would have loved to seen that.

"Well, well, what's a pretty young thing like you doin' round these parts?" A scrawny guy stepped out from behind a dumpster, his unshaven scruff unruly and covering his dirt-streaked face. His brown hair fell in greasy waves to his shoulders, and his patched and threadbare clothes suggested that this guy wasn't exactly a lawyer.

"I...I'm just trying to get home," the woman stammered, her fine-pressed business suit a dark contrast to the man's fingerless gloves. "I don't want any trouble!"

"Trouble? Who said anything about trouble?" The man smiled, revealing a row of yellow teeth. "Hand over your purse all calm like and there won't be any trouble."

"I think," Raphael said, voice echoing loudly through the alley as he dropped down from his hiding place, "that you should back away now, and leave the lady alone."

The man whirled around; his eyes growing wide as he saw Raphael emerge from the shadows. Then, a coy grin split his lips, and he doubled over laughing, slapping his knees in hysterics.

"And who's going to stop me? You? You're a giant frog!"

'Turtle, I am clearly a turtle," Raphael growled, curling his fists angrily at his sides. Why was it so hard for people to tell that he was a turtle? He did have a big shell on his back.

"Okay, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way," Raphael said, cracking his knuckles in anticipation.

"Look, you _ugly _frog-"

Raphael watched in satisfaction as his fist connected solidly with the man's cheek, sending him to the ground like a sack of potatoes; knocked out cold.

"Damn, I was kida hoping for more of a fight," Raphael mused, shaking out his wrist, before realizing that the woman was still standing in the alley, her face ashen white, her eyes wide and lip trembling as she stared at Raphael.

"Hey, it's okay, I'm not gonna hurt ya'. You're safe," Raphael said as gently as he could, lowering his hands so he didn't look like a threat.

"You're a monster," the woman stammered, stumbling back over her high-heels.

"Hey, I saved you didn't I?" Raphael protested, feeling the blood in his veins begin to boil at the all-too familiar word.

The woman, apparently, didn't seem to care about that small fact, turning on her heels as she ran back towards the mouth of the alley, where cars streamed by on the road and pedestrians walked the streets, completely oblivious to what had just happened.

Raphael was left standing alone in the dark, filthy alley, hurt and anger coursing through him, an unconscious man at his feet. It was the same thing every time. He would save someone, they would freak out and call him ugly, or a monster, or a freak, and run away without a second glance or so much as a 'thankyou', leaving Raphael to stew in bitter resentment.

Raphael couldn't help but wonder if people wouldn't freak out as much at the sight of him if he _was _a giant frog.


	3. The Idea

-The Idea-

Raphael muttered rude obscenities under his breath and angrily kicked pieces of rubbish that littered his path. He was at an all-time low, and felt like punching something. No, scratch that, he felt running out into the middle of the street and screaming; "Here I am world, this is who I am and this is what I do!" But of course, Raphael couldn't do that, so for the meanwhile he contended himself with a disgruntled "ungrateful bastards," and having a satisfying kick to a nearby garbage can. Somewhere, a car alarm shrieked, and a cat yowled in surprise.

Suddenly the grandiose view of New York did little to capture Raphael's attention, or make him feel better. It felt as if the stars and moon had vanished on purpose, washing Raphael in shadowy darkness.

By the time he found the nearest man-hole cover, and had dropped down into the familiar damp sewers he was no longer angry. Numbness had consumed him, dousing his fiery anger, instead making him feel tied and, if he was honest with himself, depressed. Depressed at how the world treated him, and depressed with who and what he was.

All he wanted to do was save people, and keep the city safe, and bash up a few low-lives while he was at it. But the truth had washed over him, no matter how many people he saved, no matter how many thugs he locked away, people would still treat him the same, because he was just to…different.

With a weary sigh Raphael reached the lair. Preparing himself for a lecture, he pushed the door open with a resigned breath, and entered the lair.

Everything was silent.

The TV was switched off, and candles had been lit. There was no sign of anyone, and Raphael realized that he had been out longer than he had thought. The neon glow of the clock on the DVD player read 2:34. Raphael was actually rather shocked that Leo hadn't waited up to yell at him. Though he couldn't blame him really, he knew that if the roles had been reversed he wouldn't have been bothered to stay up waiting either.

There was an illuminated light from underneath Don's bedroom door, and the faint hum of computers could be heard. Trying to be as quiet as he could, Raphael sneaked up to his own room. It was one thing to be lectured by Leo, but Raphael did _not _want to be lectured by his father.

As he was tip-toeing up the stairs, Raphael decided that, if this was the way he was treated and thanked for saving someone, he was never going to save someone again. This resolution, however, was interrupted when Raphael nearly fell on his face as a result of slipping on one of Mikey's many comic books that he left scattered around the lair.

Grumbling and stifling a curse, Raphael angrily kicked the offended comic book aside. About to head for his room again, Raph stopped when something in the comic book caught his eye. Slowly stooping down, Raphael picked up the comic book and looked at it more closely. Looking around to make sure that he hadn't woken anyone, Raphael took the comic book into his room and closed his door behind him.

Pulling off his gear and setting it on the nightstand beside his hammock, Raphael lay down and started to flip through the brightly coloured pages. He had always thought that comic books were childish and immature, and often made fun of Mikey for reading them. It was just a bunch of drawings and a few words in little boxes and bubbles.

As he was flipping idly through the comic, one particular page made Raphael pause and study it more closely. It was of a masked superhero, attacking a group of thugs that had cornered a lady in a dark, secluded alley, much like what had happened tonight. The masked superhero defeated all the thugs, knocking them out and tying them together for the police. The woman, who appeared very grateful, ran up to her saviour and thanked him graciously. She even asked him to take off his mask so that she could look into the eyes of her rescuer.

Raphael stopped reading, dropping the comic book on the floor, now forgotten. His mind was whirling with what he had just read. It felt like an idea was starting to form in his mind, and before he knew it, it was starting to take form.

The hero in the comic book had done what he always did, save the city, beat up some lowlifes, and usually save someone. However, the superhero in the comic book was thanked graciously, all because the woman could not see his face, and had no idea about his identity.

What if Raph were to do the same thing?

A slow smile formed on his lips. Quickly scrambling for a piece of paper and a pencil, Raphael began to furiously write his ideas. Perhaps there _was _a way for him to continue to protect the city and save people, and even a way to be _thanked _for it. He would do what the superhero in the comic book did; wear a disguise. If no one could tell that he was a giant mutant turtle, then they wouldn't be scared of him!

But where would he get a costume from?

More ideas began to flow, and before he knew it, Raphael had a basic sketch of what he would need to create a disguise.

And now, all he needed was a cool superhero name...


End file.
